Finding out
by panicattackkisses
Summary: Set during 'Illuminated'. Some jealous Lydia and fluffy Stiles.


''Lydia!''

The door slammed in the boy's face, a mixture of anger and frustration contorting his sharp features. Stiles sighed heavily, slumping forward in defeat until his head hit the wood with a dull thud. He listened to the not so quiet noises of drawers being closed too forcefully, from the other side of the door. Another exasperated sigh escaped his lips. Heels clattered to the floor with unnecessary vigour from inside Lydia Martins bedroom. Stiles winced.  
''Lydia…''

He didn't really know why he was standing in Lydia's house, staring at the grooves of her bedroom door at 3am. They had been at a party at Derek's, a strange happening that seemed to have been suspiciously arranged by Danny and the twins. Stiles had arrived with Scott and Allison, already finding Isaac and Kira streaked with neon paint and holding overflowing cups of bright blue liquid.  
Stiles had quickly spotted the strawberry blonde amongst the gyrating crowd, she was dancing harmlessly with Ethan, laughing with her head tilted to the ceiling as he spun her around like a doll. Her hair was wild; her curls bounced and glowed with purple paint. Her skin shone and her eyes glowed. Stiles couldn't look away from her, not even when she met his gaze. She had smiled, and bit her lip as she blushed; Stiles remembered that.  
He also recalled Isaac thrusting a cold bottle of beer into his hand and Scott quickly replacing it with a cup of the blue stuff once it was empty. Allison appeared with more.

And more…

He didn't remember, however, how he ended up in the kitchen with a girl that resembled a disco ball. Her face was splattered with paint and her glittery top itched his arm as she rubbed herself closer to his body. He remembered thinking how much he preferred Lydia's long, flowing curls to this strangers short, severe pixie crop.  
How this stranger's lips ended up on his own, at the exact moment Lydia came into the kitchen… well he was at a loss for that completely.

Stiles turned his back to the door in defeat, sliding down the hard panels as he ran his hands through his paint flecked hair. He remembered how the girl tasted like chemicals from the paint and smoke. He remembered that he didn't like it, at all. He remembered the look on Lydia's face before she fled, running out of the room and past their confused friends... straight through the swaying teenagers and out of the door.  
Stiles had followed within seconds, politely removing pixie girl from his lap without a glance or goodbye. He ignored his friend's questions and the drunken classmates who tried to pull him onto the makeshift dance floor.  
He was behind Lydia's retreating figure within minutes. She stalked down the road, her arms wrapped round herself to protect herself from the cold. She ignored him calling her name, his questions and confusions. She batted his hand away as he touched her shoulder. She rejected his offer of his hoody as she shivered in defiance.

And then, they had ended up at her house, dark and empty from her parent's current weekend trip. She hadn't argued when Stiles walked in after her. When they reached her room, well, that was the current dilemma.

Stiles knew Lydia didn't have a lock on her door, yet the thought of walking in on her in full rage terrified him. He had seen her attempt to take down a werewolf and he wasn't ready to risk losing the prospect of one day fathering children. He sighed for the third time, his brow puckered in frustration. Stiles was not naive, nor blind. He knew that he and Lydia were closer than ever, he knew that she loved to sit beside him, only him, on pack movie night. She saved him the last slice of pizza and fought off Isaac with vigour when he would attempt to steal it. He didn't even ask if she needed a ride to school every morning, Stiles would just pull up outside her house and she would be there, waiting on him with a smile, like always.  
Jealousy was an emotion Stiles knew all too well. Jackson, Aiden… He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought, but Lydia, jealous? It had never occurred to him. The realisation brought him back to his feet, his shaking hand to her door handle.

Stiles wasn't prepared for the delicate looking girl he found inside. She was crumpled in the middle of her bed, surround by a nest of blankets and pillows. She looked like a little broken bird, her curls still mussed and speckled with bright colours. Her mascara was smudged and Stiles watched as stray tear rolled down her cheek, colliding with pink and purple freckles of paint. She was still so, so beautiful to him. And for once, the boy decided to tell her.  
His voice cracked his words rough from the previous shouting of her name. He almost whispered it. But in the moonlit room, with no one else around them, she heard. Her head lifted and Lydia's eyes softened slightly before hardening once more. She looked at Stiles with a sharp stare.  
''Did you like it?''  
Flustered and caught off guard, his mouth gaped at her bluntness. He could never quite get used it.  
''No.'' He perched warily on her bed, eyeing her carefully as she silently dared him to get too close – Stiles wasn't that stupid… not yet.

'I think her top gave me a rash. Her hair reminded me of Scott and that was weird for me. She was too tall and her eyes weren't-'' Stiles stumbled, trying to find the correct word in his head, ''her eyes weren't right. She spoke about cheerleading for about an hour and didn't get chemistry joke. She told me she loved my shirt. She tasted like paint and smoke.'' His nose scrunched up as he rambled and he only stopped at the sound of Lydia's suppressed laugh.

''What?'' Stiles questioned her, surprised to find she had moved closer as he spoke. The girl now sat opposite him, close enough so the tips of her fingers gave him goosebumps as she trailed fire across his open palm.  
''You didn't like her hair?'' Lydia blinked her wide eyes, tilting her head and doing her best to sound innocent. Stiles could feel heaven and hell travel through his veins at the sensation of her fingertips swirling patterns on his arm.  
''Um, no,'' He stuttered, ''It was too short and – '' He gulped, ''Dark. It wasn't…'' Stiles flipped the power, capturing Lydia's wandering hand in his own. ''Her hair wasn't wild enough.'' His eyes flicked to her dishevelled locks.  
Lydia's breath caught in her chest as she tried to continue. ''She was too tall?''  
Stiles nodded, distracted as his gaze fell on her lips. She licked them in response to the attention. ''She could look me in the eye.'' He said vaguely, ''She didn't have to step on her toes to put her arms around me and I don't think she would have to stand two steps above me if she wanted to tell me off.'' He suppressed a laugh as Lydia bit her lip back a grin at the memory he created.  
''What was wrong with her eyes?'' She glanced down at their joined hands, adoring the feel of Stiles' rough palm covering her own.  
He smiled, peeking up at her shyly through his eyelashes. ''They weren't anything special.'' He shrugged, stroking a sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist. ''They didn't look like they were every shade of green possible. I don't think they would turn slightly browner when she got pissed off. They didn't hold the secrets to the universe.'' Lydia laughed, her cheeks warming again. Stiles didn't wait for her to ask the next question.  
''She was all about cheerleading, I don't think she would know archaic Latin and read 'Physics: A History of Elementary Branches', in her spare time. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Stiles had the right to look insulted when he told her how the girl hadn't laughed at his chemistry joke. So he told Lydia.

Recovering from her laughter, and moving even closer to Stiles, Lydia hummed in contentment, ''Why is her liking your shirt a bad thing?''  
Stiles didn't hesitate when he said, ''you hate my plaid shirts.''  
The game was dropped and the act was over. Lydia smiled a sad smile, she looked at the boy on her bed timidly, ''I love your shirts.''  
Stiles grinned, ''I know.'' He made a not so subtle glance towards her clothes strewn chair, nodding towards a red, checked sleeve that had managed to escape from the usual mountain of silk and pastel colours. Lydia turned the colour of said shirt and ducked her head in embarrassment.  
Trying not to laugh and discomfort the girl further, Stiles sealed his lips, bringing their still joined hands under her chin to make her look at him. With another gulp and deep breath for courage, Stiles spoke; ''you've still not questioned me on the last topic''.  
Lydia's eyes widen at his courage before softening at the growing look of panic on the poor boy's face. Softly, she asked him, ''Why didn't you like the way she tasted when she kissed you?''

His heart was beating so fast, Stiles was sure his friends would hear it back at the party. It was a bass drum in his ribcage.  
He pondered over his answer before simply stating with a sad smile, ''Because, I don't really what you taste like, but I know it's a hell of a lot better than her.''  
Victory bells sang in Lydia's head and her skin grew warmer than she knew possible. Closing the space between them, she whispered to his lips:  
''Do you want to find out?''

That morning, at 4.30am, Stiles discovered that Lydia tasted like strawberries and a hint of tequila and lime. She was addictive. Her hair smelled like apples and she fit perfectly against his body. Classical Latin textbooks can really hurt when accidentally kicked off a bed and Lydia's eyes grew darker than he had ever seen when he kissed her neck. Her hair was a beacon in the dark bedroom and he couldn't keep his hands out of the long curls. He found out she looked like sin in one of his shirts and he now knew to never, ever, make Lydia Martin jealous.


End file.
